The Day After Today
by Liebestraum
Summary: How hard would you fight, to live again? Character sketch of Teru Mikami.


**The Day After Today**

According to his agenda, he should be asleep now, and Teru Mikami sleeps with his eyes closed. So each night, even when he lies awake in bed, he does not open his eyes.

He listens.

Outside the firmly sealed window, beyond the firmly shut curtains, he knows partying teenagers yell, tires screech, and ambulance sirens scream. Just around the corner, neon lights flash and glitter downtown, while the laser light mounted on a nearby skyscraper burns into his bay window every twelve minutes and twenty-two seconds.

But in the tiny, one-bedroom flat, there is silence and there is darkness all through the night. Not oppressive, of course—it is just as it should be, since he should be asleep, according to his agenda.

Certain dangerous nights, though, Mikami dares to wonder—why those flimsy sheets of paper in the leather binder—why the kanji he writes along those thin, straight lines—why anything as _insubstantial _as his agenda planner governs his life. Why, even in the dead of night and no one watching, he fears—no, not fear, he simply _can't _open his eyes, because on the last line of his agenda, the neatly written kanji reads: Sleep – 11:00/5:00.

But what if he opens his eyes right now? What if he acknowledges he's awake?

_What if he admits he is human, and not a machine?_

He twitches uncomfortably, then flips his pillow over to the cooler side.

On his sixteenth birthday, when he first woke up deep in the night, he opened his eyes in shock because he always used to sleep straight to morning. But he'd screwed his eyes shut resolutely after a few quick seconds, and the initial disorientation had faded. Ever since, he has woken up more and more frequently; it is practically _normal_ now. And each night, he attempts to open his eyes again. It was only a game, at first. Soon, though, he realized he rarely ever did win. At that moment of revelation, the game became a struggle—a war—over power and control: Teru Mikami against that leather binder, against those thin papers, against the printed kanji, against…order. Yet for all his strife, his eyes have never remained open for longer than seven minutes and thirty-three seconds, and that was on his twenty-third birthday.

Tonight will be different, though, he thinks. Tonight is not a birthday, just a normal night, but he will open his eyes, and he will sit up in bed, and he will…he will succeed.

_Now, on three…_

_One…two…_he's paralyzed.

_One…two…three…_his fingers contract painfully around the bed sheets.

_One…two…three…_

_One…two…three…four…fiv-_

Suddenly, he finds himself sitting up, bolt straight, in bed. He stares into the darkness, cautiously. A small part of him is proud, while the other is squirming miserably; he's broken his routine, but routines are routines because humans must not waste time, and…

_Relax_.

As the internal struggle begins to recede, he hears his breathing begin to even.

Now what?

_The lights…the curtains…the window…feel the night sky…have the neon lights beam straight into this prison cell…the curtains, the window…_

_He needs to open them._

But no-no, he can't. That wasn't part of the plan. Granted, he hadn't thought this through beforehand…but he certainly can't throw back the heavy curtains and throw up the window…not now, not so impulsively, not…

_No._

He falls back into the mattress, not bothering to adjust the sheets. His eyes are shut tightly, and he has failed.

He bought the apartment six months.

It had been a risky choice, and it was expensive. The mortgage foretold years of thrift. In fact, had he been house-hunting on the outskirts of the city, he might have gotten an apartment three times the size for the same price. Except this is a special flat: the bay window and the walls are sound-proof, not to mention the curtains are extra-heavy fabric, designed to block all disturbances—an easily controlled, organized environment for his rigorous schedule.

When he bought the apartment, though, he hadn't cared so much for the sound-proofing. Instead, he'd been staring at the whitewashed walls. They were clean and practical. New.

He'd had hope. His law school diploma still smelled of fresh ink and paper, and his future looked bright. He would be defending Justice—protecting the weak, the strong, the sick, the average, the brilliant, the beautiful, the mentally insane—protecting _every innocent soul_ from the evil lurking in the dark peripheries. It was as close as he could come to his dream career, and perhaps…perhaps, he'd thought, he would be able to pursue his other dreams as well. Perhaps, one morning, he would drink green tea instead of black coffee. Perhaps, one afternoon, he would abruptly leave work early and simply…wander, aimlessly, through Tokyo.

And perhaps, he dared to dream that…one brave day, he would walk up to _the_ brilliant young NPA detective, the former Chief's son, the one he used to watch from afar in the university library…one brave day, he _will_ walk up nonchalantly—_"I've seen you around. Light Yagami, right?"_—and introduce himself_—"Teru Mikami, pleased to meet you."_—and maybe even something more—_"Are you busy Saturday night?"_

Except that wouldn't be practical.

_Routines_ are practical. When everything is planned far in advance, there are no split-second decisions, no impulsive moves; every second is spent as efficiently as possible. His time, he's more than aware, is his life.

_**And this is as life should be**_

Two hours have passed since his failure. He doesn't want to think anymore…he wants to slip into dreams and unconsciousness, forever—never to face his life-less existence again.

Perhaps, if God existed, He would send a golden-haired angel to burn Teru's deathly agenda, to tear the curtains down. Then, Teru would turn toward the bay window, and all he would see is…

…bright, flashing, vibrant, life-filled…

Light.

_**Except God does not exist**_

_"The sun is so beautiful, Mom. Every morning, it's always as bright and as warm as before. It reminds me of…myself." _

_ The woman's brows furrowed into a tight line, but her son smiled brilliantly. _

_ "Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I feel like I'm glowing. It's…like there's a sun inside of me. Like…" He paused. "…like I have so much—potential."_

_ He held up his hands, palms facing the sky._

_ "Maybe these hands are small, but when I'm older, I'll be able to do so much with them. I mean…I have years and years and years, right? I can do anything I want with that time…Dad said so, before he left." _

_ The boy lifted amber eyes, gazing at the clouds. Or rather, his mother thought, gazing far past the horizon._

_ "I heard about this new super-detective on TV last night…L. He worked with the ICPO and saved 114 lives just last week by tricking a serial bomber."_

_ The woman frowned. When did her little boy learn terms like "ICPO" and "serial bomber"? _

_ "When I grow up, I want to save lives, too…I want to be a detective, just like L, maybe even better than him. I bet I can join the NPA. Dad said I can do anything, that I'm special—"_

_ "That's enough foolishness, Teru." The woman's voice seemed sharp, irritated. "Your father's gone because _he_ was a fool. _

_"Besides, detective work is dangerous. How about…being a lawyer instead?" She softened her tone. "Your father would have wanted you to be practical."_

_ "Practical?" The smile slowly faded, but the hopeful glow remained. "What does that mean?"_

**I**

Tomorrow morning, he thinks, will be the day he puts cream in his coffee, and then the next day, he'll put in sugar, too. Next week, he'll try for a cappuccino…and eventually, he'll work his way to that green tea, that aimless afternoon stroll, that dinner with detective Yagami.

Tomorrow, the sun will be as bright and as warm as ever, and for the first time in years, he will truly feel the light shining—without and within.

Tomorrow will be a new chance, another day to chase dreams, to break free…

—_Tomorrow…_—thinks Teru Mikami, as he slips into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**I**

_Fin._

* * *

Teru Mikami is really one of my all-time favorite anime characters. It's wonderful to write about him, although I'm afraid this was out of character. =P


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